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UC-NRLF 


imiimiimm 


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BAXTER'S 

LETTERS 


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Illllllllllllllllillllllilllllllllllllllllllllllil 


BILLY  BAXTER'S 
LETTERS 


WM.  J.  KOUNTZ,  JR. 
(BILLY  BAXTER) 


BILLY  BAXTER'S 
LETTERS 

BY 

WM.  J.  KOUNTZ,:J».\; 


THE  RED  RAVEN  CORPORATION 

RED    RAVEN,    PA. 


COPYRIGHT,  1899 
.BY  WM.  J.  KOUNTZ,  JR 

,*»*j,  -JGOPYRIGHT,    1899 

BvWM.J.  KOUNTZ,  JR. 

COPYRIGHT,  1899 
BY  WM.  J.  KOUNTZ,  JR. 

COPYRIGHT,  1899 
BY  GEO.  McC.  KOUNTZ 

COPYRIGHT,  1899 
BY  GEO.  McC.  KOUNTZ 

COPYRIGHT,  1899 
BY  GEO.  McC.  KOUNTZ 


All  rights  reserved. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

PREFACE  ...  v 

OUT  HUNTING  .         .  3 

ONE  NIGHT    .         .         .         .15 
IN  SOCIETY          ...  31 

IN  LOVE  ....       49 

IN  NEW  YORK  ...        67 
JOHNNY  BLACK'S  GIRL       .     97 


989733 


PREFACE  TO  1913  EDITION 

In  presenting  a  new  edition  of  Billy 
Baxter's  Letters  we  need  only  refer  the 
reader  to  the  original  preface,  which  sets 
forth  the  circumstances  surrounding  the 
initial  publication. 

Billy  Baxter  claimed,  for  his  slang,  that 
it  was  up  to  date,  but  time  has  proven 
that  it  was  far  in  advance  of  date,  only 
because  many  of  the  expressions  used  in 
Billy  Baxter's  Letters  did  not  come  into 
common  use  until  upwards  of  ten  years 
after  the  publication  of  the  famous 
stories. 

We  offer  this  re-issue  of  Billy  Baxter's 
Letters  to  our  American  friends  in  the 
hope  that  it  will  come  with  as  much  sun 
shine  to  the  present  generation  as  the 
original  edition  did  to  the  past. 

THE  RED  RAVEN  CORPORATION. 


PREFACE 

(Original) 

In  presenting  this  work,  we  believe 
that  an  explanation  is  due  the  reader 
as  to  why  the  letters  are  given  in  their 
present  form  at  this  time. 

The  first  book  published,  "One 
Night,"  was  "issued  by  The  Duquesne 
Distributing  Company  (now  known  as 
The  Red  Raven  Corporation)  to  show 
its  great  love  for  the  American  peo 
ple,  and  to  incidentally  advertise  the 
'R — R — S — .'  "  Its  success  was  im 
mediate. 

"In  Society "  appeared  February  I, 
1899,  and  scored  as  promptly  as  "One 
Night."  The  demand  for  the  book 
lets  was  phenomenal,  and  Mr.  Kountz 
received  thousands  of  friendly  letters 
applauding  him  for  his  humor.  He 
also  received  flattering  offers  from  the 
vi 


PREFACE  Vli 

leading  comic  weeklies,  the  metropoli 
tan  dailies,  and  great  advertisers 
throughout  the  Union.  He  declined 
them  all,  being  primarily  a  business 
man,  and  carrying  literature  only  as 
a  side  line. 

On  May  ist  "In  Love"  was  given  to 
the  public,  with  the  promise  that  "In 
New  York"  would  follow  on  October 
i st.  On  the  evening  of  August  pth, 
William  J.  Kountz,  Jr.,  turned  to  the 
writer  of  this  preface,  and  referring  to 
"In  New  York,"  said:  "Well,  I'm 
through,  all  but  going  over  it."  He 
never  returned  to  his  office,  and  on 
August  1 8th  he  died  in  the  room  where 
he  was  born  not  quite  thirty-two  years 
before. 

We  then  conceived  the  idea  of  put 
ting  the  letters  out  in  their  present 
form,  as  a  last  tribute  to  the  author, 
who  in  less  than  a  year's  work  lifted 
himself  into  a  place  among  the  nation's 
humorists. 

We  have  reproduced  only  such  of 


Viii  PREFACE 

the  prefaces  and  advertisements  as 
have  been  widely  discussed  for  their 
humorous  quality,  and  which  the 
author's  friends  insisted  should  not 
be  omitted. 

The  two  heretofore  unmentioned  let 
ters  were  discovered  after  the  author's 
death,  and  are  published  in  the  rough, 
as  they  were  found.  "Out  Hunting" 
is  based  on  a  trip  which  actually  took 
place,  and  from  personal  knowledge 
contains  a  good  deal  of  fact.  It  was 
doubtless  written  before  ' '  One  Night, ' ' 
and  for  that  reason  is  given  priority 
in  the  arrangement. 

"Johnny  Black's  Girl"  is  merely  a 
scrap,  and  is  inserted  as  such.  It 
shows,  however,  that  the  author  had 
a  tear  for  pity  as  well  as  an  eye  for  the 
ridiculous. 

GEO.  McC.  KOUNTZ. 


OUT  HUNTING 


OUT  HUNTING 


PITTSBURG,  September  k,  ;*) 
DEAR  JIM: 

1  am  just  back  from  St.  Paul,  where 
I  spent  a  couple  of  days  with  Teddy 
Worthington.  Teddy  and  Bud  Hath 
away  of  Chicago  were  going  on  a 
shooting  trip  in  the  Big  Woods  of 
Minnesota,  and  they  asked  me  to  go 
with  them.  It  was  new  deal  for  me, 
so  of  course  I  was  for  it.  I  hired  a 
hammerless  breech-loader  for  seven  a 
week,  borrowed  a  lot  of  fishing-tackle, 
and  bought  a  hunting-knife  with  a 
nickel-plated  handle.  It  was  a  beaut, 
and  stood  me  three  fifty.  A  fellow 
can  never  be  too  careful.  Up  there 
you  are  likely  any  minute  to  come  face 
to  face  with  an  Apache  or  some  old 
3 


4  BILLY    BAXTER  S    LETTERS 

left-over     Aztec     rubbering     around 
among  the  trees. 

At  the  last  minute  Bud  Hathaway's 
father  had  to  die,  so  just  Teddy  and 
myself  went.  After  we  left  the  train 
w\j/rp4&  twenty  miles  in  a  wagon  to 
Freshwater  Lajke,  which  was  our  desti- 
;nJat£oh,..;  The,  .house  where  we  stayed 
was  kept  by  a  half-breed  guide  named 
Sarpo,  and  with  him  lived  his  two  sons 
and  his  second  wife,  who  was  a  young 
white  girl,  and  not  a  bad  looker  at 
that. 

The  next  morning  we  started  out 
after  ducks.  I  made  a  horrible  bluff 
that  I  was  one  of  the  old  boys  at  the 
business,  and  that  I  was  on  to  every 
thing — till  it  came  to  loading  my  ham- 
merless,  and  there's  where  I  went  to 
the  bad.  I  couldn't  get  the  blamed 
thing  open.  Teddy  handed  me  a  few 
of  his  kind  little  remarks,  and  I  got 
back  at  him  with  something  personal. 
He  got  sore.  No  thoroughbred  kid- 
der  would  have  grown  personal,  but  I 


OUT    HUNTING  5 

couldn't  think  of  anything  else  at  the 
time.  There  was  nothing  stirring  in 
the  duck  line,  and  for  two  hours  we 
sat  all  hunched  up  in  a  little  boat 
among  a  lot  of  weeds.  It  was  getting 
to  be  a  sad  affair  for  me,  and  I  was 
thinking  of  Atlantic  City,  and  the 
bands  of  music,  and  the  swell  dances, 
and  trying  to  figure  where  these  hunt 
ers  have  the  fun  they  are  always  com 
ing  home  and  talking  about,  when 
suddenly  along  came  a  drove  of  ducks. 
On  the  square,  there  must  have  been 
a  million.  The  other  members  of  the 
party  began  picking  them  off,  but 
your  Uncle  Bill  is  one  of  those  wise 
shooters.  I  waited  till  they  were  right 
over  my  head.  Say!  they  were  so 
thick  I  couldn't  see  the  sky.  I  let  go 
with  the  first  barrel,  right  into  the 
center  of  the  bunch.  Nit  duck. 
Then  the  second  barrel  went  off  of  its 
own  accord.  I'll  swear,  Jim,  I  had 
nothing  whatever  to  do  with  it.  Any 
way,  nit  duck.  I  think  if  I'd  had 


6  BILLY    BAXTER  S    LETTERS 

three  barrels  on  that  gun  I  would 
have  nailed  a  duck,  a  duck  and  a  half, 
or  two  ducks,  as  I  was  just  getting 
good.  I  loaded  up,  and  I  must  have 
been  flustered  a  bit,  as  I  blew  one  of 
the  decoys  clear  into  the  next  block. 
Then  things  again  assumed  their 
usual  hunter's  attitude,  and  after  sit 
ting  for  another  hour  we  paddled  over 
to  our  sail-boat  and  started  down  the 
lake  for  the  house.  It  was  blowing 
pretty  hard,  and  the  sky  was  blacker 
than  Pittsburg.  The  skipper  said 
something  about  a  squall,  but  it  didn't 
hit  us  until  we  were  about  two  hun 
dred  yards  from  the  dock.  Then  we 
got  it,  and  got  it  good.  It  was  but 
tercups  and  daisies.  Thunder,  light 
ning,  rain,  and  all  the  side  dishes. 
I'd  have  given  eight  dollars  to  have 
seen  a  cable  car  coming  along  about 
that  time.  The  skipper  yelled  to  me 
to  ease  off  the  larboard  stay.  Now, 
I  might  know  something  about  mince 
pie,  but  a  larboard  stay  is  not  my  long 


OUT    HUNTING  7 

and  .hasty.  Then  some  one  pushed 
me  aside,  and  succeeded  in  putting 
things  in  such  excellent  shape  that  we 
ran  plumb  through  the  dock.  It  was 
great ! 

That  night  we  sat  around,  and 
Sarpo  and  his  sons  told  some  funny 
stones.  My,  but  they  were  to  the 
saddings!  I  told  one  of  my  best,  and 
nobody  filtered  but  Teddy. 

The  next  morning  at  five  we  took 
the  dogs  and  started  out  after  deer. 
They  have  what  they  call  run-ways  or 
deer  passes,  and  the  deer  always  go 
the  same  route.  They  ought  to  have 
better  sense,  although  as  far  as  I  am 
concerned  they  are  perfectly  safe. 
They  put  me  on  one  of  the  passes, 
behind  a  lot  of  underbrush.  Well,  I 
sat  and  sat  until  I  went  to  sleep,  but 
I  slept  with  one  eye  open.  Deadwood 
Dick  and  all  the  great  scouts  and 
trappers  had  the  one-eye-open  habit. 
I  was  awakened  by  hearing  something 
crack,  and  there  standing  about 


8        BILLY  BAXTER'S  LETTERS 

twenty  feet  away  with  its  side  turned 
to  me  was  a  deer.  It  must  have  be 
longed  to  the  fair  sex,  as  it  had  no 
horns.  Talk  about  shaking!  I  would 
have  shaken  my  best  friend.  I  finally 
pulled  myself  together,  and  remem 
bering  the  ducks,  I  let  her  have  both 
barrels  at  once.  She  kicked  her  feet 
up  in  the  air,  turned  her  head,  and  on 
the  level,  she  gave  me  the  laugh  and 
cut  into  the  woods.  I  believe  she  saw 
me  all  the  time,  and  knew  I  was  a 
lobster. 

On  the  way  back  I  met  the  half- 
breed,  and  we  walked  together.  On 
reaching  the  house  we  happened  to 
glance  through  the  window,  and  there 
was  Teddy  with  his  arm  around  the 
young  wife's  waist.  Teddy  always 
was  a  rubber.  It  was  lovely  cards  for 
a  while,  and  Teddy  worked  the  old 
gag  that  he  was  showing  her  how  they 
did  in  a  play,  but  she  wasn't  wise 
enough  to  follow  it  up,  so  we  had  to 
leave. 


OUT    HUNTING  9 

While  returning  on  the  train  I  made 
the  horrible  discovery  that  I  had  been 
using  my  buckshot  on  the  ducks  and 
my  birdshot  on  the  deer.  I  can  see 
how  the  deer  got  away,  but  I'll  say 
one  thing,  and  that  is,  that  if  a  pass 
ing  duck  had  ever  reached  his  mitt 
out  for  one  of  those  buckshot  he  would 
have  thought  Rusie  was  doing  the 
pitching.  He  would  have  got  it  fine 
and  daisy. 

I  am  not  for  the  country.  They 
have  ticks,  jiggers,  and  gnats,  all 
doing  a  nice  conservative  business  at 
once.  You  never  had  a  tick  on  you, 
did  you,  Jim?  Well,  a  tick  is  a  very 
busy  little  cup  of  tea.  First,  he'll 
crawl  all  over  you,  and  then  select  a 
spot  on  the  back  directly  between  the 
shoulder  blades,  where  you  can't 
reach  him.  I  talked  to  a  man  who 
was  up  on  ticks,  and  he  said  a  tick 
was  wiser  than  a  bedbug.  Now,  you 
take  a  bedbug  whose  head  is  perfectly 
clear,  and  who  hasn't  been  drinking 


10         BILLY    BAXTERS    LETTERS 

or  smoking  too  much,  and  there  won't 
be  many  men  on  Wall  Street  much 
wiser  than  he  is.  Well,  after  a  tick 
gets  his  place  picked  out,  he  burrows 
in  under  the  skin,  then  dies  and  fes 
ters.  You  wouldn't  catch  a  bedbug 
standing  for  that  martyr  game. 

There  should  be  some  kind  of  a  law 
against  gnats.  About  two  hundred  of 
them  will  stay  right  in  front  of  your 
eyes  until  one  of  them  gets  an  open 
ing;  then  he'll  cut  in  and  land  a  jab, 
and  the  other  hundred  and  ninety-nine 
will  give  you  the  'Big  Minnehaha.  I 
had  so  many  lumps  on  me  when  I  got 
back  to  St.  Paul  that  they  called  me 
Pneumatic  Willie. 

Talk  about  your  sylvan  dells  and 
sweet-scented  fragrance!  Why,  an 
asphalt  street  has  a  sylvan  dell  skinned 
to  death,  and  a  twelve-per-cent  soap 
factory  is  sweet  enough  for  me. 
Yours  as  ever, 

BILLY. 

P.  S. — Good  night.  I  am  for  the 
sleeps. 


ONE  NIGHT 


A  KIND  OF  A  PREFACE 

The  Baxter  Letters  are  written  in 
the  up-to-date  slang  of  the  day,  by 
one  who  has  seen  several  of  the  sides 
of  life,  and  who  has  also  come  in  con 
tact  with  a  few  of  the  corners. 

We  will  mail  "One  Night"  to  any 
address  in  North  America  upon  re 
ceipt  of  four  cents*  in  postage.  Do 
not  lick  stamps  and  attach  to  letter 
of  request,  as  at  some  future  date  we 
may  wish  to  use  same,  and  the  Gov 
ernment  foolishly  requires  a  whole 
stamp. 

As  there  are  several  people  in  the 
United  States  with  whom  we  are  not 
personally  acquainted,  and  not  being 
mind-readers,  we  ask  that  all  signa 
tures  be  written  plainly. 

*This  offer  is  superseded  by  the  publication  of 
this  volume. 

13 


Admiral  Deweys  Letter 

In  November,  1898,  we  sent  Admiral  Dewey  a  copy  01 
"One  Night."  The  appended  letter  is  photographed  from 
the  original  reply  addressed  to  the  president  of  our  com 
pany,  which  was  received  March  9,  1899. 


FLAGSHIP  OLYMP/A 


We  also  sent  a  copy  to  His  Royal  Highness,  Albert, 
Prince  of  Wales,  and  having  heard  nothing  from  him,  it 
now  looks  as  though  Al  were  going  to  snub  us.  Under  the 
circumstances,  when  he  runs  for  Ring  we  can't  be  for  him. 


"SAY,   WAITER,   PLEASE   LOOK   AS  PLEASANT  AS  POSSIBLE  ' 


ONE  NIGHT 


PlTTSBURG,  PA.,   AugUSt,   189-. 

DEAR  JIM: 

You  remember  I  wrote  you  about  a 
sack  suit  I  ordered  last  week.  Well, 
it  came  yesterday,  and  you  know  the 
finish.  Why  can't  a  fellow  put  on  a 
new  suit,  make  a  few  calls,  and  go 
home  like  a  gentleman?  The  minute 
I  got  into  that  suit,  I  fell  off  the  water 
wagon  with  an  awful  bump,  although 
I  hadn't  touched  a  drink  for  thirty- 
seven  days.  Oh !  But  I  got  a  lovely 
bun  on.  That's  the  last.  No  more 
for  me.  There's  nothing  in  it.  K 
anybody  says,  "Have  something, 
Billy,"  you'll  see  your  Uncle  Bill  take 
to  the  trees. 

Yesterday  at  2 130  I  had  a  hundred 

15 


1 6      BILLY  BAXTER'S  LETTERS 

and  ten  dollars;  this  morning  I'm 
there  with  a  dollar  eighty,  and  that's 
the  draw  out  of  a  two-dollar  touch. 
If  there  is  any  truth  in  the  old  saying 
that  money  talks,  I  am  certainly  deaf 
and  dumb  to-day.  Besides,  I  have  a 
card  in  my  pocket  which  says  I've 
opened  up  a  running  account  of  thirty- 
two  forty  at  George's  place.  I  won 
der  if  this  George  is  on  the  level,  be 
cause  I'll  swear  I  don't  think  I  was  in 
there  at  all.  I'll  bet  he  stuck  the 
forty  on,  anyway.  You  know  me, 
Jim;  I  am  one  of  those  bright  people 
who  tries  to  keep  up  with  a  lot  of  guys 
who  have  nothing  to  do  but  blow  their 
coin.  I  stood  around  yesterday  and 
looked  wise,  and  licked  up  about  four 
high-balls;  then  I  kind  of  stretched. 
Whenever  I  give  one  of  those  little 
stretches  and  swell  up  a  bit,  that's  a 
sign  I  am  commencing  to  get  wealthy. 
I  switched  over  and  took  a  couple  of 
gin  fizzes,  and  then  it  hit  me  I  was 
richer  than  Jay  Gould  ever  was;  I  had 


ONE    NIGHT  17 

the  Rothschilds  backed  clear  off  the 
board;  and  I  made  William  H.  Van- 
derbilt  look  like  a  hundred-to-one 
shot.  You  understand,  Jim,  this  was 
yesterday.  I  got  a  little  red  spot  in 
each  cheek,  and  then  I  leaned  over 
the  bar  and  whispered,  "Mr.  Bar 
tender,  break  a  bottle  of  that  Pom- 
mery. "  Ordinarily  I  call  the  booze 
clerk  by  his  first  name,  but  when  you 
are  cutting  into  the  -grape  at  four  dol 
lars  per,  you  always  want  to  say  Mr. 
Bartender,  and  you  should  always 
whisper,  or  just  nod  your  head  each 
time  you  open  a  new  bottle,  as  it 
makes  it  appear  as  though  you  were 
accustomed  to  ordering  wine.  You 
see,  Jim,  that's  where  I  go  off  my  dip. 
That  wine  affair  is  an  awful  stunt  for 
a  fellow  who  makes  not  over  two  thou 
sand  a  year,  carries  ten  thousand  life, 
and  rooms  in  a  flat  that's  fifteen  a 
month  stronger  than  he  can  stand. 
But  to  continue,  I  lost  the  push  I 
started  out  with,  and  got  mixed  up 


1 8       BILLY  BAXTER'S  LETTERS 

with  a  fellow  named  Thorne,  or 
Thorpe,  or  something  like  that,  and 
we  got  along  great  for  a  while.  He 
knew  a  lot  of  fellows  in  Boston  that  I 
did,  and  every  time  we  struck  a  new 
mutual  friend  we  opened  another  bot 
tle.  I  don't  know  just  what  the  total 
population  of  Boston  is,  but  we  must 
have  known  everybody  there.  Fi 
nally  Thorne  got  to  crying  because  his 
mother  had  died.  You  know  I  am  a 
good  fellow,  so  I  cried  too.  I  always 
cry  some  time  during  a  bat,  and  there 
was  an  opening  for  your  life.  I  cried 
so  hard  that  the  bartender  had  to  ask 
me  to  stop  three  different  times.  I 
made  Niobe  look  like  a  two-spot. 
Between  sobs  I  asked  him  about  the 
sad  affair,  and  found  that  his  mother 
had  died  when  he  was  born.  I  guess 
it  had  just  struck  him.  Then  there 
were  doings. 

I  had  wasted  a  wad  of  cries  that 
would  float  the  Maine,  and  I  was  sore 
for  fair.  A  fat  fellow  cut  into  the 


ONE    NIGHT  T9 

argument,  and  some  one  soaked  him 
in  the  eye,  and  then,  as  they  say  in 
Texas,  "there  was  three  minutes  rough 
house. ' '  In  the  general  bustle  a  seedy 
looking  man  pinched  the  Fresh  Air 
Fund,  box  and  all.  You  know  I'm 
not  much  for  the  bat  cave,  and  to 
avoid  such  after-complications  as 
patrol  wagons  and  things,  I  blew  the 
bunch  and  started  up  street.  I  guess 
the  wind  must  have  been  against  me, 
as  I  was  tacking. 

I  met  Johnny  Black,  and  he  was 
going  to  keep  a  date  with  a  couple  of 
swell  heiresses  at  one  of  the  hotel 
dining-rooms.  I  saw  them  on  the 
street  to-day,  and  they  won't  do. 
One  of  them  wore  an  amethyst  ring 
that  weighed  about  sixty  carats,  and 
the  other  had  on  white  slippers  cov 
ered  with  little  beads. 

I  don't  know  anything  about  them, 
but  I'll  gamble  that  they  are  the  kind 
of  people  that  have  pictures  of  the 
family  and  wreaths  in  the  parlor. 


20         BILLY    BAXTER  S    LETTERS 

They  looked  fine  and  daisy  last  night, 
though.  Probably  the  grape.  My 
girl's  name  was  Estelle.  Wouldn't 
that  scald  you?  Estelle  handed  me  a 
lot  of  talk  about  having  seen  me  on 
the  street  for  the  last  two  years,  and 
how  she  had  always  been  dying  to 
meet  me,  and  I  got  swelled  up  and 
bought  wine  like  a  horse  owner. 
Johnny  was  shaking  his  head  and 
motioning  for  me  to  chop,  but  what 
cared  I?  Estelle  was  saying,  "He 
done  it,"  "I  seen  it,"  and  "Usen't 
you?"  right  along,  but  the  grape 
stood  for  everything. 

Estelle's  friend  was  talking  about 
her  piano,  and  how  hard  it  was  to  get 
good  servants  nowadays,  and  say,  Jim, 
I've  heard  knockers  in  my  time,  but 
Estelle  is  the  original  leader  of  the 
anvil  chorus.  She  just  put  everybody 
in  town  on  the  pan  and  roasted  them 
to  a  whisper.  She  could  build  the 
best  battleship  Dewey  ever  saw  with 
her  little  hammer.  Estelle's  friend, 


ONE    NIGHT  21 

after  much  urging,  then  sang  a  pa 
thetic  ballad  entitled,  "She  Should  Be 
Scolded,  but  Not  Turned  Adrift," 
and  I  sat  there  with  one  eye  shut,  so 
that  I  could  see  single,  and  kept  say 
ing,  "Per'fly  beauf'ful." 

About  this  time  I  commenced  to 
forget.  I  remember  getting  an  awful 
rise  out  of  Estelle  by  remarking  that 
her  switch  didn't  match  her  hair.  She 
came  up  like  a  human  yeast  cake. 
Johnny  sided  with  the  dame,  and  said 
I  might  at  least  try  to  act  like  a 
gentleman,  even  if  I  weren't  one. 
Perhaps  the  grape  wasn't  getting  to 
Johnny  by  this  time.  He  was  nobby 
and  boss.  He  was  dropping  his  r's 
like  a  Southerner,  and  you  know  how 
much  of  a  Southerner  Johnny  is — 
Johnstown,  Pa. ;  and  he  was  hollering 
around  about  his  little  three-year-old, 
standard-bred,  and  registered  bay 
mare  out  of  Highland  Belle,  by 
Homer  Wilkes,  with  a  mark  of  twenty- 
one,  that  could  out-trot  anything  of 


22       BILLY  BAXTER'S  LETTERS 

her  age  that  ever  champed  a  bit. 
Did  you  get  that,  Jim?  That  ever 
champed  a  bit;  and  still  he  said  at 
noon  to-day  that  he  had  had  two,  pos 
sibly  three,  glasses  of  wine,  but  no 
more.  The  only  way  that  mare  of 
Johnny's  can  go  a  mile  in  twenty-one 
is  "In  the  Baggage  Coach  Ahead." 

Say,  Jim,  I've  never  said  much 
about  it,  but  you  let  any  of  these  fel 
lows  who  own  horses  get  a  soak  on, 
and  they  get  to  be  a  kind  of  a  village 
pest,  with  their  talk  about  blowing  up 
in  the  stretch,  shoe  blisters  on  the  left 
forearm,  etc.  Now,  since  when  did  a 
horse  get  an  arm?  They  have  got 
me  winging.  I  can't  follow  them  at 
all. 

But  to  return  to  last  night.  When 
Johnny  threw  that  thing  at  me  about 
champing  the  bit,  it  was  all  off  to 
Buffalo  with  little  Will.  I  went  out 
of  business  right  there. 

When  I  got  up  this  morning  I  had 
to  ask  the  bellboy  what  hotel  I  was 


ONE    NIGHT  23 

in.  I'll  see  the  fellows  to-night,  and 
they'll  all  tell  me  how  dirty  my  face 
was,  and  what  I  called  so  and  so,  and 
make  me  feel  as  bad  as  they  possibly 
can.  It's  a  wonder  a  fellow  doesn't 
get  used  to  that,  but  I  never  do;  I 
feel  meaner  each  time.  Guess  I'll 
take  the  veil. 

Don't  fail  to  come  down  Saturday. 
Several  of  us  are  going  yachting  on 
the  Ohio  River.  It  will  be  lovely 
billiards.  Yours  as  ever, 

BILLY. 

P.  S. — Do  you  know  anything  about 
that  George's  place? 

HORSE  SENSE 

Sometimes  you  eat  too  much,  some 
times  you  drink  too  much,  and  some 
times  you  do  both.  In  any  event,  you 
feel  like  the  very  old  scratch  the  next 
morning.  Too  much  liquor  overheats 
the  blood.  Too  much  food,  and  the 
ttver  goes  on  a  strike.  The  first 


24       BILLY  BAXTER'S  LETTERS 

remedy  which  should  suggest  itself  is 
a  purgative  which  will  act  on  the 
liver,  and  cleanse  the  system  of  all 
the  indigestible  junk  with  which  it  has 
been  overtaxed.  This  is  positively 
the  foundation  for  permanent  relief. 
The  next  thing  is  to  cool  the  blood. 
Now,  isn't  it  common  horse  sense? 

Think  it  over. 

THE  R — R —  is  the  only  water  which 
acts  on  the  liver.  Its  base  is  sodium 
phosphate. 

THE  R — R —  is  the  only  water  which 
cools  the  blood.  Overheated  blood 
is  what  causes  the  pressure  on  the 
head. 

THE  R — R —  is  the  only  pleasant- 
tasting  aperient  water  of  any  strength 
on  the  market  to-day. 

We  have  stumbled  onto  a  good 
thing,  and  we've  got  the  money  to 
push  it. 

You  remember  the  man  who  at 
breakfast  said:  "Waiter,  bring  me 
about  ten  grains  of  oatmeal,  and  put 


ONE    NIGHT  25 

stickers  on  it  so  that  it  will  stay  down; 
and  say,  waiter,  please  look  as  pleas 
ant  as  possible,  for  I  feel  like  h — 1." 

Well,  that's  how  a  person's  stomach 
gets  some  mornings. 

If  you  are  going  to  drink  an  aperi 
ent,  why  try  to  force  down  a  water 
that  is  warm,  and  tastes  like  a  lot  of 
bad  eggs,  doesn't  touch  your  liver, 
and  won't  cool  your  blood,  when  you 
can  get  the  R — R — ,  cold  and  spar 
kling  and  pleasant,  which  will  do  all 
these  things? 

If  you  are  annoyed  with  constipa 
tion,  stomach  or  liver  trouble,  use  as 
your  system  dictates,  and  see  how 
much  better  you  feel.  It  can't  hurt 
you.  Best  before  breakfast. 


IN  SOCIETY 


PREFACE 

In  presenting  "In  Society,"  we  are 
confident  of  success.  Upon  "One 
Night''  comment  is  unnecessary.  A 
bonafide  demand  for  nearly  250,000 
copies  in  less  than  three  months 
speaks  for  itself.  In  inclosing  stamps 
for  books,  our  men  readers  who  Iwill 
join  the  "Union"  mentioned  on  page 
36  will  so  state.  No  names  attached 
to  such  communications  will  be  pub 
lished.  The  partial  description  of  the 
grand  opera  "Die  Walkiire"  in  this 
book  is  given  precisely  as  it  occurred ; 
and  although  the  up-to-date  slang  used 
might  suggest  exaggeration,  such  is 
really  not  the  case.  Again  we  ask 
that  your  name  be  written  plainly. 
This  caution  is  not  addressed  to  the 
women.  We  have  given  up  all  hope 
29 


3O         BILLY    BAXTER  S    LETTERS 

of  ever  getting  a  readable  signature 
from  a  woman.  Don't  think  for  a 
moment  that  we  have  anything 
against  the  women.  Heaven  forbid ! 
We  merely  say  that  if  there  is  a 
woman  in  the  United  States  who  can 
write  plainly,  that  particular  woman 
hasn't  written  us  yet. 


"THE   BELL  COW 


IN  SOCIETY 


PITTSBURG,  PA.,  Feb.  i,  1899. 
DEAR  JIM: 

There  is  no  new  scandal  worth  men 
tioning.  What  I  started  to  write  you 
about  was  Hemingway's  duplicate 
whist  party  which  was  pulled  off  last 
night.  I  had  a  bid,  and  as  there  was 
nothing  else  stirring,  I  put  on  that 
boy's-size  dress  suit  of  mine,  and  blew 
out  there.  Jim,  you  know  the  signs 
you  see  on  the  dummies  in  front  of 
these  little  Yiddisher  stores,  "Take 
me  home  for  $10.98,"  or,  "I  used  to 
be  $6.21,  now  I'm  yours  for  $3.39." 
Well,  that's  your  Uncle  Bill  in  a  dress 
suit.  Every  one  takes  me  for  a 
waiter. 

I  have  just  been  thinking  this  soci- 


32       BILLY  BAXTER'S  LETTERS 

ety  push  over,  and  I  have  come  to  the 
conclusion  that  an  active  leader  in 
society  has  more  troubles  than  a  man 
in  the  wheat  pit,  and  a  man  in  the 
wheat  pit  is  long  on  troubles  about  as 
often  as  he  is  on  wheat.  If  you  don't 
believe  it,  ask  Joe  Leiter.  He  was 
long  on  both  at  the  same  time. 

Take  the  woman  who  uses  fair  Eng 
lish  and  has  coin,  and  let  her  display 
the  same  good  cold  judgment  that  has 
made  her  husband  successful  in  busi 
ness,  and  some  rainy  Thursday  morn 
ing  the  four  hundred  will  wake  up  and 
find  a  new  member  has  joined  the 
order.  While  she  is  on  her  way  she'll 
get  many  a  frost,  but  after  she  lands 
she'll  even  up  on  the  other  can 
didates. 

I  have  heard  it  said  that  locomotive 
engineers  as  a  rule  suffer  from  kidney 
troubles,  caused  by  the  jolting  and 
bumping  of  the  engine.  If  jolts  and 
bumps  go  for  anything,  some  of  these 
people  who  are  trying  to  break  into 


IN   SOCIETY  33 

society  must  have  Bright's  Disease 
something  grievous. 

Jim,  if  you  have  never  been  to  a 
duplicate  whist  party,  see  some  of 
those  people  play  whist,  and  then 
order  your  shroud.  Last  night  for  a 
partner  I  drew  an  old  girl  who  was  a 
Colonial  Dame  because  her  ancestors 
on  both  sides  had  worked  on  the  Old 
Colony  Railroad.  She  must  have 
taken  a  foolish  powder  or  something, 
just  before  she  left  home,  as  she  was 
clean  to  the  bad.  She  had  to  be 
called  five  minutes  before  each  play, 
and  the  way  she  trumped  my  ace  the 
first  time  around  was  enough  to  drive 
a  person  dippy.  Once  she  mentioned 
her  husband's  diamond-studded  air 
ship.  Poor  old  lady!  Probably  took 
a  double  dose  by  mistake.  How  care 
less! 

Everybody  was  making  a  great  fuss 
over  some  girl  who  is  lecturing 
throughout  the  country  on  "Man  as 
Woman  Sees  Him/*  Talk  about  lav- 


34       BILLY  BAXTER'S  LETTERS 

ish  eyes.  My  boy!  my  boy!  but  this 
dame  was  there  with  the  swell  lamps. 
A  hundred  candle  power  easily.  I 
tried  to  sit  up  to  her,  but  there  was 
nothing  doing.  I  might  have  known 
I  was  a  dead  one.  Because  why? 
Because  Mr.  Percy  Harold  was  talk 
ing  to  her,  and  he  knows  all  about 
rare  china,  real  old  lace,  and  such 
things.  When  I  came  up,  the  subject 
was  Du  Bois'  Messe  de  Mariage. 
(Spelling  not  guaranteed.)  I  asked 
about  it  this  morning,  Jim.  A  Messe 
de  Mariage  seems  to  be  some  kind  of 
a  wedding  march,  and  a  bishop  who  is 
a  real  hot  dog  won't  issue  a  certificate 
unless  the  band  plays  the  Messe. 
Mr.  Percy  Harold  kept  right  on  talk 
ing  about  Jack  Hayes  being  so  desper 
ately  in  love  with  Mrs.  Hardy-Steele, 
and  how  late  they  were  getting  home 
from  the  opera  the  other  night,  and 
what  a  shame  it  was,  as  Mr.  Steele 
seemed  like  such  a  nice  fellow.  There 
I  stood  like  a  Harlem  goat.  I  couldn't 


IN   SOCIETY  35 

cut  in,  because  I  have  so  many  troubles 
of  my  own  getting  home  from  any 
place  at  all  that  I  haven't  time  to 
keep  tab  on  other  people.  I  must  be 
as  slow  getting  onto  a  scandal  as  the 
injured  husband.  If  15,000  people 
know  something  about  a  woman,  my 
number  is  14,999,  and  the  husband's 
number  is  15,000.  It  seems  strange, 
but  the  husband  always  seems  to  get 
wise  last. 

But  to  return  to  the  girl  with  the 
electric  eyes.  I  hung  around  in  that 
sad  dress  suit  like  a  big  dub,  hoping 
that  the  conversation  would  finally  get 
switched  to  theaters  or  dogs  or  spar 
ring,  or  something  where  I  could  make 
good,  but  Mr.  Harold  had  the  floor, 
and  he  certainly  had  me  looking  like 
a  dirty  deuce  in  a  new  deck.  I  stood 
for  him  till  he  suddenly  exclaimed, 
"Oh,  fudge!"  because  he  had  forgot 
ten  one  of  his  rings,  and  there  was 
where  I  took  to  the  tall  timbers.  If 
I  were  a  ring,  I  wouldn't  let  a  guy  like 


36       BILLY  BAXTER'S  LETTERS 

that  wear  me.  Now  will  you  kindly 
tell  me  why  it  is  that  a  girl  will  throw 
a  good  fellow  down  every  time  for  one 
of  those  Lizzie  boys?  If  I  thought 
there  were  enough  men  in  the  country 
who  feel  as  I  do,  I  would  start  "The 
American  Union  for  the  Suppression 
of  Lizzie  Boys." 

Well,  I  decided  to  get  into  my  class, 
so  I  started  for  the  smoking-room.  I 
hadn't  gone  three  feet  till  some 
woman  held  me  up,  and  began  telling 
me  how  she  adored  grand  opera.  I 
didn't  even  reply.  I  flew  madly,  and 
remained  hidden  in  the  tall  grasses  of 
the  smoking-room  until  it  was  time  to 
go  home.  Jim,  should  any  one  ever 
tell  you  that  grand  opera  is  all  right, 
he  is  either  trying  to  even  up,  or  he  is 
not  a  true  friend.  I  was  over  in  New 
York  with  the  family  last  winter,  and 
they  made  me  go  with  them  to  "Die 
Walkiire"  at  the  Metropolitan  Opera 
House.  When  I  got  the  tickets,  I 
asked  the  man's  advice  as  to  the  best 


IN   SOCIETY  37 

location.  He  said  that  all  true  lovers 
of  music  occupied  the  dress  circle  and 
balconies,  and  that  he  had  some  good 
center  dress-circle  seats  at  three  bones 
per.  Here's  a  tip,  Jim.  If  the  box 
man  ever  hands  you  that  true-lover 
game,  just  reach  in  through  the  little 
hole  and  soak  him  in  the  solar  for  me. 
It's  coming  to  him.  I'll  give  you  my 
word  of  honor  we  were  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  from  the  stage.  We  went  up  in 
an  elevator,  were  shown  to  our  seats, 
and  who  was  right  behind  us  but  my 
old  pal  Bud  Hathaway  from  Chicago. 
Bud  had  his  two  sisters  with  him,  and 
he  gave  me  one  sad  look  which  said 
plainer  than  words,  "So  you're  up 
against  it,  too,  eh?"  We  introduced 
all  hands  around,  and  about  nine 
o'clock  the  curtain  went  up.  After 
we  had  waited  fully  ten  minutes,  out 
came  a  big,  fat,  greasy-looking  Dago 
with  nothing  on  but  a  bear  robe.  He 
went  over  to  the  side  of  the  stage,  and 
sat  down  on  a  bum  rock.  It  was 


38      BILLY  BAXTER'S  LETTERS 

plainly  to  be  seen,  even  from  my  true 
lover's  seat,  that  his  bearlets  was  sorer 
than  a  dog  about  something.  Pres 
ently  in  came  a  woman,  and  none  of 
the  true  lovers  seemed  to  know  who 
she  was.  Some  said  it  was  Melba, 
others  Nordica.  Bud  and  I  decided 
it  was  May  Irwin.  We  were  mis 
taken,  though,  as  Irwin  has  this  woman 
lashed  to  the  mast  at  any  time  or 
place.  As  soon  as  Mike  the  Dago 
espied  the  dame  it  was  all  off.  He 
rushed,  and  drove  a  straight-arm  jab, 
which  had  it  reached  would  have  given 
him  the  purse.  But  Shifty  Sadie 
wasn't  there.  She  ducked,  side-step 
ped,  and  landed  a  clever  half-arm 
hook  which  seemed  to  stun  the  big 
fellow.  They  clinched,  and  swayed 
back  and  forth,  growling  continually, 
while  the  orchestra  played  this  trembly 
Eliza-crossing-the-ice  music.  Jim, 
I'm  not  swelling  this  a  bit.  On  the 
level,  it  happened  just  as  I  write  it. 
All  of  a  sudden  some  one  seemed  to 


IN   SOCIETY  39 

win.  They  broke  away,  and  ran 
wildly  to  the  front  of  the  stage  with 
their  arms  outstretched,  yelling  to 
beat  three  of  a  kind.  The  band  cut 
loose  something  fierce.  The  leader 
tore  out  about  $9.00  worth  of  hair, 
and  acted  generally  as  though  he  had 
bats  in  his  belfry.  I  thought  sure  the 
place  would  be  pinched.  It  reminded 
me  of  Thirsty  Thornton's  dance-hall 
out  in  Merrill,  Wisconsin,  when  the 
Silent  Swede  used  to  start  a  general 
survival  of  the  fittest  every  time 
Mamie  the  Mink  danced  twice  in  suc 
cession  with  the  young  fellow  from 
Albany,  whose  father  owned  the  big 
mill  up  Rough  River.  Of  course,  this 
audience  was  perfectly  orderly,  and 
showed  no  intention  whatever  of  cut 
ting  in,  and  there  were  no  chairs  or 
glasses  in  the  air,  but  I  am  forced  to 
admit  that  the  opera  had  Thornton's 
faded  for  noise.  I  asked  Bud  what 
the  trouble  was,  and  he  answered 
that  I  could  search  him.  The  audi- 


4O         BILLY    BAXTER  S    LETTERS 

ence  apparently  went  wild.  Every 
body  said,  "Simply  sublime!"  "Isn't 
it  grand?"  "Perfectly  superb!" 
"Bravo!"  etc.,  not  because  they  really 
enjoyed  it,  but  merely  because  they 
thought  it  was  the  proper  thing  to  do. 
After  that  for  three  solid  hours  Rough 
House  Mike  and  Shifty  Sadie  seemed 
to  be  apologizing  to  the  audience  for 
their  disgraceful  street  brawl,  which 
was  honestly  the  only  good  thing  in 
the  show.  Along  about  twelve  o'clock 
I  thought  I  would  talk  over  old  times 
with  Bud,  but  when  I  turned  his 
way  I  found  my  tried  and  trusty  com 
rade  "Asleep  at  the  Switch." 

At  the  finish  the  woman  next  to  me, 
who  seemed  to  be  on,  said  that  the 
main  lady  was  dying.  After  it  was 
too  late,  Mike  seemed  kind  of  sorry. 
He  must  have  given  her  the  knife,  or 
the  drops,  because  there  wasn't  a 
minute  that  he  could  look  in  on  her 
according  to  the  rules.  He  laid  her 
out  on  the  bum  rock,  they  set  off  a  lot 


IN    SOCIETY  41 

of  red  fire  for  some  unknown  reason, 
and  the  curtain  dropped  at  12:25. 
Never  again  for  my  money.  Far  be 
it  from  me  knocking,  but  any  time  I 
want  noise  I'll  take  to  a  boiler  shop 
or  a  Union  Station  where  I  can  under 
stand  what's  coming  off.  I'm  for  a 
good  mother  show.  Do  you  remem 
ber  "The  White  Slave,"  Jim?  Well, 
that's  me.  Wasn't  it  immense  where 
the  main  lady  spurned  the  leering 
villain's  gold,  and  exclaimed  with 
flashing  eye,  "Rags  are  royal  raiment 
when  worn  for  virtue 's  sake. ' '  Great ! 

"The  White  Slave"  has  "Die  Wal- 
kiire"  beaten  to  a  pulp,  and  they  don't 
get  to  you  for  three  cases  gate  money, 
either. 

Say,  Jim,  if  you  ever  happen  to  be 
hunting  around  for  a  real  true  old 
sport,  don't  overlook  General  Hem 
ingway,  last  evening's  host.  When  it 
comes  to  warm  propositions,  he  is  cer 
tainly  the  bell  cow.  They  all  follow 
him.  He  is  one  of  those  fat,  bald- 


42       BILLY  BAXTER'S  LETTERS 

headed  old  boys  who  at  one  time  has 
had  the  smallpox  so  badly  that  he 
looks  as  though  he  had  lost  a  lot  of 
settings  out  of  his  face.  He  hustled 
for  about  twenty  years,  harnessed  up 
a  bunch  of  money,  and  now  his  life  is 
one  continual  crimson  sunset.  Some 
people  know  when  they  have  enough, 
but  when  the  old  general  has  enough 
he  doesn't  know  anything.  Smoke 
up!  Jim,  I  didn't  get  that  one  myself 
the  first  time  I  heard  it.  Every  time 
the  general  gets  lit  up,  he  places  his 
arm  around  your  shoulder,  puts  his 
face  close  to  yours,  blows  ashes  in 
your  eyes,  and  tells  you  confidentially, 
so  that  every  one  in  Texas  can  hear 
him,  that  he  knew  your  father  when 
the  seat  of  his  trousers  was  ragged, 
and  he  didn't  have  one  dollar  to  rub 
against  another.  I  don't  mind  that 
so  much,  but  every  time  he  comes  to 
a  word  with  the  letter  P  in  it,  he  spits 
all  over  a  fellow.  Why,  the  other 
night  he  was  telling  me  about  our 


IN   SOCIETY  43 

newly  acquired  Possessions,  the 
.Philippines,  being  a  land  of  .Perpetual 
Plenty,  and  for  a  while  I  thought  I 
was  in  the  natatorium.  Under  the  cir 
cumstances  I  don't  know  which  would 
be  more  desirable,  a  plumber  for  the 
general,  or  a  mackintosh  for  myself. 
Yours  as  ever, 

BILLY. 

P.  S. — Jim,  you  know  those  little 
white  checks  they  issue  in  some  bars 
and  you  pay  at  the  cashier's  desk? 
Well,  one  of  the  boys  just  telephoned 
me  that  he  saw  Johnny  Black  a  few 
minutes  ago  in  a  down-town  place  with 
a  beautiful  sosh  on,  and  that  he  was 
eating  his  checks  because  he  was 
broke.  He  had  swallowed  five  checks 
amounting  to  $2.30  before  the  bar 
tender  tumbled.  That's  a  new  one 
on  me,  and  it's  all  right.  My!  but 
that  boy  Johnny  is  a  sincere  drinker. 


44       BILLY  BAXTER'S  LETTERS 

MORE  HORSE  SENSE 

Sometimes  you  get  up  in  the  morn 
ing  feeling  as  though  you  were  not 
expected  to  live.  You  know  the 
cause.  If  you  are  at  home,  the  first 
thing  to  do  is  to  square  yourself. 
Some  experts  on  squaring  say  that  it 
is  best  to  deny  everything,  others  ad 
vise  a  partial  acknowledgment  of  the 
facts,  together  with  a  solemn  promise 
that  it  will  never  occur  again.  We 
would  respectfully  suggest  that  you 
try  the  first;  if  unsuccessful,  spring 
the  second,  and  if  both  fail,  be  a 
thoroughbred  and  take  it  like  a  man. 
You  probably  deserve  it,  but  look  at 
the  fun  you  had  the  night  before  sing 
ing  bass.  Remember  one  thing:  don't 
say  you  missed  the  twelve-o'clock  car, 
and  rather  than  wait  you  walked 
home.  You  may  have  arrived  in  a 
cab.  Wonderful  what  a  noise  one 
small  cab  can  make  in  the  middle  of 
the  night.  Well,  the  next  thing  is 


IN    SOCIETY  45 

your  physical  condition.  Your  liver 
must  be  got  going.  Would  you  rather 
drink  a  cold,  sparkling,  pleasant-tast 
ing  R — R — S —  that  will  produce  in 
stant  action  upon  the  liver?  or  would 
you  prefer  a  water  that  is  warm  and 
sickening,  tastes  like  an  Italian  tene 
ment  looks,  and  half  the  time  won't 
stay  down?  Many  a  good  fellow  has 
his  own  troubles  in  the  morning  trying 
to  find  something  that  will  stick.  The 
R — R —  will  stick,  and  what's  more, 
it  cools  the  blood,  which  naturally 
relieves  the  pressure  upon  the  head. 
For  constipation,  stomach  and  liver 
troubles,  R — R —  has  no  equal. 
Being  on  a  sodium  phosphate  base,  it 
is  positively  the  only  liver  water  on 
the  market  to-day.  Why  subject  your 
self  to  probable  salivation  from  poison 
ous  calomel  when  the  R — R —  is 
absolutely  harmless  and  will  give  you 
better  results?  Keep  our  goods  at 
your  home,  and  when  you  are  away 
from  home  you  can  get  it  at  any  first- 
class  hotel,  cafe*,  or  club. 


IN  LOVE 


' 


"TAILOR-MADE,   CLOAK   MODEL  FORM,   CITY  BROKE, 
KIND   AND   SOUND" 


IN  LOVE 


PITTSBURG,  PA.,  May  i,  1899. 
DEAR  JIM: 

So  you  want  to  know  how  a  fellow 
is  going  to  tell  positively  when  he  is 
stuck  on  a  girl,  do  you?  Well,  I'll 
tell  you,  and  I'll  tell  you  mighty 
quick.  If  some  guy  cuts  in  on  your 
steady,  you  are  going  out  to  her  home, 
and  you  are  going  to  call  her  fine  and 
plenty,  aren't  you?  And  unless  she 
promises  to  bump  the  other  fellow, 
you  are  going  to  leave  her  in  a  rage, 
aren't  you?  Now,  if  you  go  back  with 
out  being  sent  for,  you're  it. 

Jim,  if  you  can,  you  had  better  wait 

for  her  to  break  the  ice.     If  you  don't, 

from  that  time  on  she  will  make  you 

look  like  a  white  chip.     A  woman  is 

49 


5O      BILLY  BAXTER'S  LETTERS 

like  one  of  the  big  trusts.  The  in 
stant  she  acquires  a  controlling  inter 
est  in  you  she  becomes  a  regular 
ring-master.  She  will  make  you  jump 
through,  lie  down  and  roll  over,  walk 
lame,  and  play  dead;  and  don't  think 
for  a  moment  you  won't  do  it,  either. 
All  the  rest  of  them  have.  You  show 
me  a  man  who  hasn't  been  up  against 
such  a  game,  and  I'll  show  you  a 
man  who  lacks  experience.  A  lot 
of  these  handsome  gazabes  go 
around  looking  wise,  winning  girls 
out,  and  thinking  they  are  the  happy 
thought.  That's  because  they  have 
had  a  run  of  luck  and  landed  in  among 
a  bunch  of  marks.  Let  them  keep  it 
up.  It  is  only  a  matter  of  time  until 
they  will  stumble  over  a  live  wire,  and 
then  it  will  be  pay-day  on  the  Wabash. 
It's  grand  to  see  a  great  big  slob  run 
ning  along  behind  some  little  bit  of  a 
girl,  a  faithful  Fido,  taking  his  orders 
like  a  politician.  I  know  what  I'm 
talking  about,  Jim,  because  I  have 


IN    LOVE  51 

certainly  been  the  original  human  dog. 
I  used  to  think  I  was  the  Village  Rub 
ber — but  not  any  more.  They  have 
made  me  look  like  thirty  cents,  not 
once,  but  a  dozen  times.  I  can  gaze 
into  the  dim,  hazy  distance  and  see 
where  every  one  of  these  coy,  clever 
fellows  is  going  to  get  it,  and  get  it 
good,  and  I  am  glad  of  it.  My  hat's 
off. 

Say,  Jim,  I'm  not  much  for  these 
love  stories  in  the  books.  They  are 
liable  to  mislead  a  fellow.  You  read 
how  Benton  Brockway,  the  hero,  looks 
into  pretty  Bessie  Bell's  blue  eyes, 
places  his  hand  on  her  shapely  shoul 
der,  and  tells  her  how  he  loves  her. 
Even  her  downcast  eye  doesn't  hide 
the  pearly  tear  as  she  answers,  "Yes." 
Now,  I  can  look  into  their  eyes  for 
four  hours,  and  I  can  tell  them  how  I 
love  them  till  I  am  black  in  the  face, 
and  they  seem  to  like  it;  but  when 
ever  I  come  to  the  laying  of  the  hand 
on  the  shapely  shoulder  part,  it's  all 


52       BILLY  BAXTER'S  LETTERS 

off.  I  am  told  that  I  am  no  gentle 
man,  and  to  roll  my  hoop  out  of  that 
house  forever.  What's  a  fellow  going 
to  do?  You  can  never  tell  whether  a 
girl  is  really  sore  or  whether  she  is 
stalling.  A  girl  might  be  for  a  fellow 
strong,  and  yet  she  wouldn't  admit  it 
for  a  thousand  dollars.  There  may 
be  some  things  I  wouldn't  admit 
for  a  thousand,  but  I  don't  just  recall 
them  at  the  present  time.  It  only 
goes  to  show  that  things  are  not 
always  what  they  seem.  Many  a  girl 
wears  a  sailor  hat  who  doesn't  own  a 
yacht. 

Just  to  show  you  what  a  chance  a 
man  has  nowadays:  The  other  night 
I  went  out  to  see  a  certain  girl. 
Won't  mention  any  names.  Never 
do,  sober.  She  made  what  she  called 
a  Robert  E.  Lee  punch  out  of  apple 
brandy  and  stuff.  Well,  sir,  after  I 
had  hit  three  Robert  E.  Lees,  I  could 
see  waving  green  fields  and  fruit-laden 
orchards,  and  kind-faced  old  cows 


IN    LOVE  S3 

standing  in  silvery  streams  of  water. 
The  drawing-room  lamp  looked  like  a 
flood  of  golden  sunshine,  and  I  couldn't 
remember  of  owing  a  cent.  Jim, 
I  have  never  been  against  the  pipe, 
because  I'm  too  young,  but  if  it  beats 
the  Robert  E.  Lee  punch,  I'll  have  to 
go  after  it.  I  took  one  more  dipper 
of  Robert  E.  Lee,  and  then  I  decided 
that  any  girl  who  could  make  that 
kind  of  a  mix  could  have  me  for  better 
or  for  worse;  and  if  I  didn't  propose 
right  there,  I'll  eat  your  hat.  I  told 
her  that  I  had  loved  her  madly  for 
months,  but  had  never  found  the 
courage  to  say  so  till  that  night.  I 
also  mentioned  the  fact  that  even  if 
she  was  very  small  and  I  was  large, 
and  even  if  the  people  in  the  church 
would  say  we  looked  like  Rhode  Island 
and  Texas  marching  out  together,  that 
it  made  no  difference  where  true  love 
was  concerned.  I  finished  it  all  up 
with  a  look  that  would  have  melted 
the  heart  of  a  bank  dealer.  My  work 


54       BILLY  BAXTER'S  LETTERS 

must  have  been  a  little  to  the  sand 
paper,  or  I  may  have  backed  up  kind 
of  foolish  like,  or  something.  What 
ever  it  was,  she  answered,  "  Billy,  your 
brother's  hair  is  a  good  deal  darker 
than  yours,  isn't  it?"  Now,  what  do 
you  think  of  that  frosty-hearted  fairy? 
Literally  forced  me  to  drink  that 
punch,  gets  me  ripened  up,  and  then 
throws  the  hooks  into  me.  As  a  love- 
maker  I  guess  I  am  a  shine.  Jim, 
have  you  ever  gone  home  late  at  night 
and  told  yourself  in  front  of  the  mir 
ror  how  you  loved  some  girl?  and 
have  you  ever  seen  that  same  girl 
walking  along  the  street  the  next  day 
with  another  fellow,  and  the  instant 
you  discovered  them,  did  a  great  big 
lump  come  into  your  breast?  And  did 
you  immediately  think  of  a  lot  of 
things  about  the  fellow  you  didn't 
like,  although  previously  you  had 
rather  admired  him?  Well,  that  thing 
you  get  in  your  breast  is  what  we  ex 
perts  call  the  love  lump,  and  you  were 


IN    LOVE  55 

placing  yourself  in  a  position  to  later 
on  become  a  kind  of  Patsy  to  that 
girl. 

Isn't  that  love  lump  all  the  money, 
though?  It  makes  a  well-developed 
case  of  indigestion  look  like  a  sunny 
summer  day.  When  you  come  to  fig 
ure  it  all  over,  there's  nothing  to  that 
jealousy  thing.  I  used  to  be  Billy 
Brighteyes,  and  sneak  out  to  my  regu 
lar's  home,  thinking  that  perhaps  I 
would  catch  some  one  else  there. 
What  do  I  do  now?  Why,  I  telephone 
that  I  will  be  out  in  thirty  minutes. 
What  you  don't  know  won't  hurt  you. 

Jim,  what  has  ever  become  of  that 
girl  you  were  so  crazy  about  a  couple 
of  years  ago?  I  guess  maybe  she 
didn't  put  a  dent  into  your  heart  that 
a  person  could  drive  a  four-in-hand 
into  and  never  touch  the  sides,  a 
regular  Hoosac  Tunnel.  Then  when 
she  had  you  all  ribbed  up  and  done  to 
a  turn,  she  said:  4<I  love  Mr.  Hawkins, 
and  Mr.  Hawkins  loves  me.  Good 


56       BILLY  BAXTER'S  LETTERS 

by,  Jim;  take  care  of  yourself." 
You  couldn't  have  gotten  a  better  jolt 
on  the  B.  &  O.  You  will  pardon  my 
suppressed  merriment,  but  that  girl 
certainly  made  you  look  like  a  trailer. 
Never  mind,  Jim,  old  pal,  we  have  all 
had  a  crimp  put  into  us  at  one  time  or 
another,  and  if  you  work  hard  and 
observe  good  hours  you'll  get  over  it 
in  four  or  five  years.  It's  nothing  at 
all. 

I  have  often  thought  I  would  land  a 
girl  with  coin,  blow  business,  and  sit 
around  for  a  while.  It  would  be  great 
to  have  your  own  hearthstone,  with  a 
couple  of  registered  St.  Bernards 
lying  around,  and  here  and  there  a 
golden-haired  darling  romping  and 
playing  with  a  bottle  of  paregoric. 
But  somehow  or  other  I  always  fall 
down.  Now,  take  that  Katherine 
Clark,  who  has  been  visiting  the  Hem 
ingways  for  the  past  month.  When 
she  first  came,  I  said  to  myself,  "Billy, 
my  boy,  here's  your  chance;  break  in 


IN    LOVE  57 

and  cop  out  an  heiress.'*  So  I  sicked 
myself  on  to  her.  Well,  you  know 
I'm  not  a  piker.  I  went  after  her 
right.  Eats,  drinks,  shows,  and  all 
the  expensive  things.  I  touched 
Johnny  Black's  brother-in-law  for  fifty, 
and  gave  an  informal  luncheon  that 
was  a  pippin.  I  wore  my  New  York 
Central  shirt  with  the  four  stripes,  and 
we  had  wine  with  cobwebs.  There 
wasn't  a  thing  served  that  any  one 
could  pronounce,  and  Johnny  Black 
got  loaded  and  told  us  on  the  quiet 
why  his  sister  had  left  her  husband. 
I  insulted  Johnny  by  making  some 
remark  about  his  joining  the  Tell 
Club,  and  altogether  everything  was  a 
big  success.  The  check  came  to 
$44.60,  and  I  flashed  Johnny's  brother- 
in-law's  fifty.  When  the  waiter 
brought  the  five-forty  change  I  waved 
him  away  as  though  the  Standard  Oil 
Company  was  the  smallest  thing  I 
owned.  The  tip  was  out  that  old  man 
Clark  was  black  with  money,  and  if 


58       BILLY  BAXTER'S  LETTERS 

it's  so,  I  know  why.  He  is  tight- 
ribbed  and  popcorn.  Down  in 
George's  Place  the  other  day  I  asked 
the  old  man  what  he  was  going  to 
drink,  rand  he  said  he  would  rather 
have  the  money.  And  say,  he  gave 
me  a  cigar  that  looked  as  though  it 
had  some  skin  trouble,  and  smelled 
like  some  one  was  shoeing  a  horse. 
However,  a  fellow  doesn't  always  have 
to  live  with  the  bride's  parents.  Jim, 
this  girl  was  a  dream.  Tailor-made, 
cloak-model  form,  city-broke,  kind, 
and  sound.  She  could  just  naturally 
beat  the  works  out  of  a  piano;  and 
talk  about  your  swell  valves.  Why, 
the  other  night  she  sang  "A  Sailor's 
Life's  the  Life  for  Me"so  realistically 
that  Johnny  Black  got  seasick.  Well, 
to  make  a  long  story  short,  this  morn 
ing  I  got  an  invitation  to  Katherine 
Clark's  wedding.  Jim,  did  you  ever 
have  a  fellow  come  up  behind  you  and 
smear  you  back  of  the  ear  when  you 
weren't  looking?  Well,  that's  exactly 


IN   LOVE  59 

how  that  invitation  felt.  She  is  going 
to  marry  some  lobster  out  in  St.  Louis, 
and  I'll  bet  he  is  a  pup,  and  is  marry 
ing  her  for  her  money.  I  figured  it 
up  on  the  back  of  the  invitation,  and 
that  lady  sent  me  along  for  just  two 
hundred  and  ten  dollars,  not  counting 
what  I  owe  Johnny  Black's  brother- 
in-law;  and  the  best  I  get  is  a  "come 
to  the  church."  Of  course  you  will 
say  I'm  stung  again,  and  that  some 
one  should  lead  me  out  to  the  end  of 
the  Chicago  Crib  and  push  me  into  the 
lake,  and  all  that  sort  of  rot;  but 
hang  it  all,  Jim,  if  I  could  get  that 
girl  I  would  take  her  if  she  didn't 
have  a  cent.  I  guess  I'll  light  my 
pipe.  Yours  as  ever, 

BILLY. 

P.  S.— "Good  by,  Jim;  take  care  of 
yourself." 


60      BILLY  BAXTER'S  LETTERS 


MORE  HORSE  SENSE 

Have  you  ever  sat  on  the  edge  of  the 
bed  in  the  morning  with  your  elbows 
on  your  knees,  your  head  buried  in 
your  hands,  and  wondered  if  there  was 
anything  you  overlooked  the  night 
before  that  would  have  made  you  feel 
worse?  Among  the  more  polite,  this 
feeling  is  spoken  of  as  the  realization 
of  indiscretion  in  diet;  but  we  plain 
people  call  it  old  Colonel  R.  E.  Morse. 
There  are  lots  of  things  that  will  give 
you  a  Colonel,  but  a  R — R — S —  is  the 
only  thing  that  will  make  you  feel  like 
a  person  with  a  future  instead  of  a 
person  with  a  past.  You  must  cleanse 
your  liver,  and  that's  all  there  is  to  it. 
Here's  the  proposition:  Say  there 
were  two  glasses  of  aperient  water 
standing  on  a  table.  One  was  muddy- 
looking,  bad-tasting,  warm,  and  flat, 
and  wouldn't  touch  your  liver.  The 
other  was  clear,  pleasant-tasting,  cold, 


IN    LOVE  6 1 

and  sparkling,  and  acted  instantly 
upon  your  liver.  Which  would  you 
take?  Inasmuch  as  our  circulation  is 
confined  entirely  to  the  most  intelli 
gent,  all  we  ask  is,  that  you  give  this 
proposition  one  moment  of  your 
thought.  The  immense  sale  of  R — 
R — S —  proves  beyond  a  doubt  that 
the  American  people  are  thoroughly 
disgusted  with  vile-tasting  foreign  bit 
ter  waters,  and  were  merely  awaiting 
the  advent  of  something  new  and 
sparkling,  like  R — R — . 


IN  NEW  YORK 


PREFACE 

"In  New  York"  is  the  last  of  the 
Baxter  Letters  for  the  present.  We 
think  it  well  to  stop  before  we  get 
bad.  We  make  but  one  claim  for 
distinction — the  largest  circulation 
America  has  ever  seen  or  heard  of. 
The  people,  up  to  date,  have  actually 
demanded  over  three  and  a  half  million 
copies,  or  nearly  five  car-loads  of  our 
little  books,  and  there  is  no  telling 
where  it  will  stop.  We  have  Robin 
son  Crusoe  backed  clear  off  his  island, 
and  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin  burned  to 
the  ground.  Still  it  would  have  been 
a  different  story  had  we  asked  a  dollar 
apiece  for  our  books;  so  we  are  not 
so  much  after  all. 


"CLOSE  HARMONY'' 


IN  NEW  YORK 


PlTTSBURG,   PA.,  AugUSt,    1899. 

DEAR  JIM: 

Just  got  back  from  New  York  this 
morning.  Bud  Hathaway  stopped  off 
here  on  his  way  from  Chicago,  and 
coaxed  Johnny  Black  and  me  to  go 
over  East  with  him.  We  went,  and  a 
pretty  mess  we  made  of  it.  Bud  is 
sore  on  both  of  us,  I  got  touched  for 
ninety,  and  Johnny  is  lost. 

Nothing  of  interest  occurred  going 
over  on  the  train,  excepting  that  when 
I  turned  in  I  took  off  my  trousers 
without  spilling  my  money  all  over  the 
Pullman  floor.  This  is  done  by  sew 
ing  the  human  pocket  shut.  We 
landed  at  Twenty-third  Street,  in 
good  shape,  early  in  the  morning  of 
67 


68       BILLY  BAXTER'S  LETTERS 

the  day  before  yesterday.  When  we 
reached  the  Pennsylvania  cab-stand 
some  one  had  taken  the  hansom,  so 
we  had  to  hire  a  carriage.  They  are 
building  another  hansom,  and  then 
there  will  be  plenty  of  hansoms  for  all. 
At  the  hotel  Johnny  claimed  I  had  a 
drag  because  I  drew  a  room  with  a 
window  in  it.  Breakfast  was  hardly 
over  until  Bud,  without  consulting  us 
at  all,  commenced  arrangements  for 
giving  a  swell  dinner  to  a  couple  of 
heiresses  who  lived  on  Eighteenth 
Street  and  who  were  worth  eight  mil 
lions,  or  who  lived  in  Eighth  Street 
and  were  worth  eighty  millions — 
Johnny  and  I  didn't  know  which. 
Bud  gave  us  a  lot  of  hot  air  about  his 
mother's  cousin  standing  fifteen  balls 
in  the  New  York  Four,  and  how  that 
made  him  a  non-resident  member,  and 
if  we  did  just  as  he  said,  he  would  put 
us  in  right.  He  told  us  that  there 
were  thousands  of  people  right  in  New 
York  City,  any  one  of  whom  would 


IN    NEW    YORK  69 

give  a  cool  million  for  our  opportu 
nity.  Johnny  immediately  began  to 
figure  on  how  he  would  treat  certain 
people  over  in  Pittsburg  who  had 
given  him  the  eye  in  bygone  days; 
and  I  got  so  struck  on  myself  that  I 
cut  the  head  waiter  dead,  although  I 
had  known  him  intimately  for  years. 
Along  about  n  A.M.  the  deal  went 
through  by  'phone  for  seven  o'clock 
that  evening.  Bud  went  to  get 
shaved,  and  Johnny  and  I  retired  to 
the  bar  to  wait  until  it  was  time  to  get 
ready  for  the  dinner. 

Well,  sir,  I  never  met  so  many 
people  in  all  my  life  as  we  met  in  that 
bar.  There  was  a  wine  agent  whom 
everybody  called  Dick,  and  I'm  for 
Dick.  He  sapped  up  all  kinds  of 
booze  except  wine,  like  four  dollars' 
worth  of  blue  blotters,  and  every  time 
he  took  a  drink  he  raised  his  salary  a 
thousand  dollars  a  year.  Once  I 
weakened,  and  went  outside  and 
watched  the  hotel  lobby  go  around  for 


70       BILLY  BAXTER'S  LETTERS 

a  while.  When  I  returned,  Johnny 
Black,  Dick  the  wine  agent,  and  a 
large  red-faced  man  who  looked  as 
though  he  had  helped  to  made  Mil 
waukee  famous,  and  who  said  he  was 
from  K.  C.,  Mizzoo,  were  doing  some 
close  harmony  that  was  great.  The 
three  of  them  were  bunched  with  their 
arms  resting  on  each  others'  shoul 
ders,  singing  "She  May  Have  Seen 
Better  Days,"  and  the  way  they  all 
looked  up  toward  heaven  was  some 
thing  pathetic.  Whenever  they  came 
to  a  barber  shop  minor  they  would 
hold  it  for  a  full  minute,  and  then  they 
would  all  stop  and  tell  each  other  how 
good  they  were.  Suddenly  a  fellow 
rushed  in  through  the  street  door  and 
breathlessly  exclaimed:  "My  good 
ness  gracious,  sakes  alive!  the  under 
tow  almost  carried  me  beyond  the 
bar."  The  newcomer  still  wore  his 
dress  suit  from  the  evening  before, 
and  his  shirt  front  was  all  spattered 
with  egg.  He  was  promptly  named 


IN    NEW    YORK  71 

"His  Chickens/'  His  Chickens  did 
a  trick  with  a  wine-glass  and  a  half- 
dollar,  and  finally  succeeded  in  cutting 
a  gash  in  his  wrist  an  inch  long. 
Johnny  Black,  who  was  rapidly  be 
coming  normal,  remarked  that  His 
Chickens  was  the  village  cut-up.  I 
laughed  so  loud  at  Johnny's  shine 
joke  that  the  manager  of  the  hotel 
called  me,  and  the  whole  tribe  got 
insulted  and  told  the  man  his  place 
was  no  good  anyhow. 

We  started  out,  and  the  first  thing 
we  did  was  to  strike  one  of  those 
foolish  cabs.  We  made  a  bargain  for 
a  dollar  and  a  half  the  first  hour  and 
a  dollar  each  succeeding  hour,  and 
then  we  fell  in  and  told  the  pilot  to 
take  us  all  over  New  York.  He  said 
he  would,  and  from  the  way  I  feel,  he 
did.  K.  C.  started  an  awful  argu 
ment  in  one  place  by  declaring  that  a 
straight  should  beat  a  flush  because 
there  were  only  eight  chances  to  fill  a 
straight,  while  with  a  flush  there  were 


72         BILLY    BAXTER'S    LETTERS 

nine.     I  never  figured  it  out  before, 
but  K.  C.  is  right. 

In  another  place  we  met  a  Philadel 
phia-looking  sort  of  a  fellow  with  a 
soft  hat,  a  Prince  Albert  coat  with 
narrow  braid  on  it,  and  a  couple  of 
those  little  bow-legged  dogs  with  the 
long  ears  and  their  stomachs  away 
down  on  the  ground.  They  call  them 
Dasch  hounds,  or  something,  and  I 
can't  for  the  life  of  me  see  what  any 
body  would  want  with  such  fool-look 
ing  dogs.  They  look  as  though  they 
had  been  born  under  a  bureau  or  in  a 
New  York  hotel  room,  where  you  have 
to  close  the  folding  bed  to  find  your 
clothes,  or  in  the  Boston  baseball 
grounds.  The  dog  man  said  he  used 
to  know  a  George  Black  years  ago  in 
Johnstown,  Pa.,  who  was  a  puddler  in 
the  mills  there.  Johnny  answered: 
4 'That's  my  father.  He  is  manager 
of  those  mills  now,  and  what's  more, 
he  can  lick  any  man  in  Cambria  Coun 
ty,  just  the  same  as  I  can  lick  any 


IN    NEW    YORK  73 

man  in  New  York  City."  The  last 
was  announced  in  a  tone  sufficiently 
loud  to  be  heard  all  over  the  place. 
Jim,  I  got  it  four  times  just  from  the 
overflow.  Now,  you  know  merely 
because  Johnny's  father  can  lick  any 
man  in  Cambria  Country,  is  that  any 
reason  why  I  should  land  out  in  the 
middle  of  the  car  track?  Not  at  all. 
Along  about  ten  in  the  evening  Bud 
wanted  to  keep  the  seven-o'clock-din 
ner  date  with  the  heiresses,  but  the 
rest  of  the  gang  were  too  busy.  We 
blew  into  one  of  those  concert  halls 
over  on  Eighth  Avenue,  where  they 
have  sand  on  the  floor,  red-white-and- 
blue  tissue  paper  around  the  edge  of 
the  ceiling,  no  programme  because  it 
costs  too  much,  and  a  bum  piano  for 
an  orchestra.  The  Professor  wore  no 
coat,  but  he  certainly  knew  his  way 
around  the  ivories.  A  sad-looking, 
thin  guy,  with  a  four  days'  growth  and 
a  large  near-diamond  stud,  came 'out 
and  announced  that  the  next  turn  was 


74       BILLY  BAXTER'S  LETTERS 

the  feature  of  the  evening — the  win 
some  Sisters  Montclair,  who  would 
sing  a  lovely  waltz  ballad  written  ex 
pressly  for  them,  entitled,  "The  Check 
Was  Forged— He  Had  Went  Too 
Far."  Johnny  Black  set  'em  up  to 
the  Professor  right  in  the  middle  of 
the  song,  and  the  Professor  bowed  his 
regards,  blew  the  froth  off  his  beer, 
drank  it,  and  lit  a  cigarette  without 
losing  a  note.  Immediately  after  the 
act,  the  Professor  presented  Miss  Alice 
Montclair  of  the  famous  "Sisters 
Montclair."  Barring  the  fact  that 
Miss  Montclair  had  a  mouth  like  a 
cave,  she  wasn't  a  bad  looker.  Old 
K.  C.  gave  what  was  intended  for  a 
tender,  loving  look,  and  asked  her  if 
he  could  call  her  Alice;  then  without 
waiting  for  an  answer,  passed  into  a 
Rip  Van  Winkle  that  looked  good  for 
a  hundred  years. 

We  told  the  lady  it  was  up  to  her, 
and  she  said  she  would  take  a  brandy 
and  soda.  Brandy  and  soda  being 


IN    NEW    YORK  75 

fifty  a  throw  and  beer  five  a  copy,  we 
told  her  to  behave,  and  ordered  the 
waiter  to  back  her  up  a  tub  of  suds, 
Texas  size.  I  noticed  Miss  Mont- 
clair's  handkerchief  was  marked 
"  Mary  Burke. "  Probably  some  mis 
take  on  the  part  of  the  laundry.  Care 
less  laundry!  Alice  told  us  what 
lovely  people  her  folks  were;  she  said 
her  father  was  mayor  of  his  town,  and 
if  we  only  knew  her  real  name  it  would 
surprise  us  all.  Johnny  Black  started 
to  guess  it,  but  was  interrupted  by 
having  to  settle  for  the  last  round  His 
Chickens  had  ordered.  It  seems  His 
Chickens  would  madly  order,  and  then 
when  the  waiter  would  kind  of  hang 
around  for  the  price,  he  would  do  the 
earnest  conversation  gag  until  some 
one  else  had  made  good.  Alice,  who 
was  now  getting  a  trifle  weary,  went 
on  to  tell  us  that  the  girl  who  appeared 
with  her  was  not  her  sister,  and  that 
the  only  reason  she  stood  for  her  at 
all  was  because  she  had  once  been 


76      BILLY  BAXTER'S  LETTERS 

good  to  her  when  she  was  sick.  All 
of  a  sudden  old  K.  C.,  who  had  been 
leaning  over  farther  and  farther,  did  a 
Brodie  out  of  his  chair  and  lit  on  his 
eye.  We  dug  him  out  of  the  sand  and 
put  him  back  where  he  belonged,  and 
he  immediately  departed  into  another 
dreamless  but  jumpy  slumber.  At 
this  juncture  somebody  sold  Dick  six 
tickets  at  a  dollar  per  for  a  ball  that 
had  been  given  over  a  month  ago  by 
the  Varnish  Makers'  Union,  K.  of  L., 
No.  229.  Upon  learning  that  he  had 
been  bunked,  Dick  became  very  dig 
nified,  and  said  he  would  remember 
the  fellow  perfectly,  and  that  the  day 
would  come  when  they  would  be 
brought  face  to  face. 

We  were  all  getting  along  great; 
everybody  was  calling  Alice  by  her 
first  name,  and  Alice  was  saying,  "I'll 
leave  it  to  Bill  if  it  ain't  right,"  and 
speaking  of  Manager  Frohman  as 
Charley,  when  Johnny  Black,  the 
president  of  all  the  trouble-makers, 


IN    NEW    YORK  77 

spoiled  the  whole  business.  It  ap 
pears  that  Alice's  eyelids  were  slightly 
granulated.  It  was  barely  noticeable, 
and  nobody  but  a  dog  like  Johnny 
would  have  mentioned  such  a  thing. 
Anyway,  Johnny  suggested  that  the 
lady's  granulated* eyelids  were  prob 
ably  caused  by  looking  for  a  rise  in 
"Sugar."  Jim,  you  should  have  seen 
Alice  go  up?  Johnny  certainly  cut 
her  weights  fine  and  proper.  Of 
course,  Johnny  was  batting  under  two 
hundred,  but  for  some  unknown  rea 
son  we  all  got  the  blue  pencil.  She 
called  Johnny  an  illy  bred,  low-born, 
undersized,  cavery-faced  Protestant 
pup.  Johnny  was  so  excited  he 
couldn't  get  back  at  all.  He  just 
sputtered  and  spit  and  made  motions 
with  his  mouth.  It  was  grand  and 
touching  and  refined.  I  cut  in  and 
tried  to  square  it,  and  the  lady  told 
me  I  was  a  spangle-eyed  big  dub. 
I'll  bet  that's  one  of  the  worst  things 
a  fellow  can  be.  Dick  was  then  told 


78       BILLY  BAXTER'S  LETTERS 

what  he  was,  and  he  put  it  down  in  a 
book,  after  which  Alice  finished  it  all 
up  with  a  flood  of  tears.  The  head 
waiter  came  up  and  said:  "Look  a 
here,  Mary,  what  ails  you,  anyway? 
You're  getting  so  lately  you  turn  them 
tears  on  every  night.  Be  a  good  fel 
low,  and  don't  make  a  lot  of  gents 
think  we're  running  a  morgue. 
You've  blowed  half  your  make-up  as 
it  is."  Mary,  alias  Alice,  gave  the 
head  waiter  one  withering  look,  and 
left  the  place.  We  started  to  move 
on,  but  found  it  was  impossible  to 
bring  old  K.  C.  back.  We  pounded 
him  and  yelled  at  him  for  ten  minutes, 
but  there  wasn't  a  leaf  stirring,  except 
once,  when  he  came  to  long  enough  to 
remark  that  he  was  sweating  like  a 
June  bride.  We  finally  took  his  watch 
and  all  his  money  but  two  dollars,  and 
left  him  like  a  dog.  A  fellow  is  per 
fectly  safe  in  New  York  without  any 
money. 

We   then    mounted    our    deep-sea- 


IN    NEW    YORK  79 

going  cab,  and  told  the  skipper  we 
were  for  the  eats.  He  took  us  to  a 
big  restaurant  on  upper  Sixth  Avenue=, 
We  told  the  waiter  to  bring  us  every 
thing  that  was  good.  When  the  waiter 
returned  with  the  knives  and  forks,  he 
also  brought  us  some  Dill  pickles.  I 
took  a  bite  at  one  of  them,  and  she 
squirted  and  hit  a  fellow  at  the  next 
table  in  the  eye.  I  guess  a  Dill  pickle 
must  smart  right  pert — however,  I 
won't  bore  you  with  any  details.  Jim, 
I  can  remember  that  just  at  the  start 
of  it  a  waiter  happened  to  be  passing 
with  a  very  large  order  on  his  tray, 
and  for  a  while  the  air  was  literally 
crowded  with  oyster  stews,  Welsh 
rarebits,  glasses,  showers  of  booze, 
frogs'  legs,  and  everything  that  wasn't 
chained  down.  When  the  smoke 
cleared  away  I  was  occupying  my 
regular  position  in  the  center  of  the 
car  track.  They  wouldn't  let  me  in 
again,  and  the  rest  of  the  fellows  were 
too  hungry  to  come  out;  so  there  I 


8o      BILLY  BAXTER'S  LETTERS 

was  " Alone  in  New  York."  The  cab 
man  then  asked  for  his  money  for  the 
whole  day.  I  told  him  that  the  lack 
of  money  was  the  least  of  my  troubles, 
and  I  went  down  after  ninety  dollars 
that  I  had  pinned  in  my  trousers 
watch-pocket  with  a  safety  pin.  Exit 
money.  Whoever  got  to  me  hadn't 
even  left  the  safety  pin.  The  cabman 
made  some  remarks  about  taking  it 
out  of  my  hide,  and  I  spent  all  of 
twenty  minutes  proving  to  him  that 
the  rest  of  the  bunch  would  settle 
when  they  came  out.  I  then  walked 
all  the  way  down  to  the  hotel,  alone 
and  hungry.  In  my  whole  life  I  never 
met  such  a  quarrelsome  lot  of  people. 
You  know  yourself,  Jim,  that  any  one 
who  can  guess  when  a  Dill  pickle  is 
going  to  squirt  is  entitled  to  the  bar 
rel  of  flour,  or  the  gold-plated  oil 
stove;  and  as  far  as  that  ninety  is 
concerned,  I  suppose  I  went  in  front 
of  the  City  Hall  and  presented  it  to 
somebody.  I'll  bet,  all  told,  I've 


IN    NEW    YORK  8 1 

been  in  a  hundred  scraps  in  New 
York,  and  have  never  won  a  battle. 
I'll  win  out  yet,  if  I  have  to  go  out 
and  beat  up  a  poor  old  apple-woman. 

Say,  Jim,  the  greatest  game  in  New 
York  is  to  walk  into  some  hotel  palm- 
room  with  a  particularly  swell  girl  and 
watch  all  the  rest  of  them  get  jealous. 
You  know  that  Harper  girl  from 
Louisville?  Well,  I  showed  her  around 
New  York  a  couple  of  months  ago, 
and  she  made  them  all  look  like  a 
summer  resort  on  a  rainy  day.  When 
we  entered  any  of  the  big  restaurants 
I  would  send  her  along  ahead,  and  I 
would  trail  to  hear  the  cracks.  It 
was  grand  to  see  them  rubber  and 
hear  the  women  say,  "She  isn't  so 
much,"  or,  "My,  isn't  she  padded 
frightfully!"  and  hear  the  men  say 
"Gee!  A  dream,"  or,  "Pipe,  Dan,  I 
guess  she's  perfectly  miserable,  eh?" 
I  lost  two  or  three  sets  of  studs  that 
trip  just  from  swelling  up. 

Well,    I'm   home,    and   here   I   am 


82      BILLY  BAXTER'S  LETTERS 

going  to  stay.  Just  on  the  quiet,  I 
never  felt  so  bad  in  my  life.  I'm  all 
sore  and  stiff  from  that  car-track 
habit,  and  talk  about  your  jumps! 
Why,  a  minute  ago  I  was  sitting  as 
quiet  as  a  lamb,  when  without  the 
slightest  warning,  I  did  a  leap  straight 
up  into  the  air  about  four  feet.  I 
wonder  what  causes  that?  Coming 
down  to  the  office  this  morning  some 
body  kept  calling  me  continually,  and 
when  I  would  look  around  there 
wouldn't  be  a  soul  near,  and  I  am  all 
the  time  hearing  bands  of  music,  and 
maybe  I  am  not  perspiring! 

If  I  ever  get  over  this,  that  narrow- 
path  gag  for  your  Uncle  Bill  for  a  long 
time  to  come.  When  you  get  to 
throwing  your  money  away  there  is 
nothing  doing.  Far  be  it  from  me 
casting  up,  neither  am  I  a  hard  loser, 
but  I  certainly  could  use  that  ninety. 
Well,  that'll  be  about  all. 

Yours  as  ever, 

BILLY. 


IN    NEW    YORK  83 

P.  S. — Just  received  the  following 
telegram  from  Johnny  Black,  dated 
New  York,  1:50  p.  M.  :  "Old  K.  C. 
has  just  been  sighted.  She's  a  little 
dismantled,  but  game.  She's  arrang 
ing  for  a  foolisher  for  a  whole  week, 
and  I  am  going  to  stay  with  him. 
Dick  sends  best.  Chickens  has  a 
roll." 

I  wired  Johnny  as  follows:  "If  you 
see  a  safety  pin  anywhere  around 
Chickens,  that  roll  belongs  to  me/' 


JOHNNY  BLACK'S  GIRL 


"SMILING  UP  AT   HIM  JUST  AS  SHE  USED  TO" 


JOHNNY  BLACK'S  GIRL 


PITTSBURG,  PA.,  July  i,  1899. 
DEAR  JIM: 

I  have  something  to  tell  you,  and 
it's  not  necessary  to  stand  on  the 
courthouse  steps  at  high  noon  and  do 
the  human  phonograph  act,  as  it's 
strictly  under  your  bonnet.  One 
evening  about  three  years  ago,  before 
Johnny  and  I  had  moved  to  our  new 
flat,  I  had  turned  in  kind  of  early,  as 
I  had  been  to  the  Cabinet-Makers' 
Ball  at  Turner's  Hall  the  night  before, 
and  it  had  been  a  great  success.  I 
was  wakened  by  Johnny  beating  me 
and  asking  me  to  shake  hands.  He 
was  dancing  around  like  a  crazy  man, 
and  as  soon  as  I  fairly  got  my  eyes 
opened  I  guessed  the  cause.  Little 
87 


88         BILLY    BAXTER'S    LETTERS 

Nellie  Morrison  had  told  him  she 
loved  him,  and  they  were  engaged. 
My!  but  Johnny  was  happy  and  im 
portant.  Well,  sir,  he  just  kept  me 
up  till  two  o'clock,  telling  me  all  their 
plans.  It  wasn't  very  hard  to  do, 
either,  for  although  I  tried  to  appear 
kind  of  careless,  I  was  as  much  ex 
cited  as  Johnny.  It  was  just  six 
months  later  that  poor  little  Nell  was 
taken  out  dead  from  that  big  wreck 
over  East.  Well,  now  comes  the 
trouble.  Johnny  Black  loves  that 
little  girl  just  as  much  as  he  did  the 
day  she  was  brought  back  home.  So 
far  as  the  boys  are  concerned,  he  has 
hidden  it  fairly  well.  They  think  he 
is  over  it,  but,  Jim,  he's  getting 
worse.  Last  night  I  came  in  about 
twelve,  and  there  sat  Johnny  curled 
up  in  the  big  chair  you  gave  me  last 
Christmas.  He  had  cried  himself  to 
sleep,  and  in  his  hand  was  a  picture 
of  Nell.  There  she  was  in  a  little 


JOHNNY  BLACK'S  GIRL         89 

white  dress,  smiling  up  at  him  just  as 
she  used  to  before  it  all  happened.  I 
leaned  over  and  touched  him  as  gently 
as  I  could,  and  said,  "Come  on  to 
bed,  Johnny."  He  never  answered  a 
word.  He  placed  the  picture  in  his 
pocket,  and  I  led  him  off  to  his  room. 
He  didn't  speak  until  just  before  he 
put  out  his  light,  and  then  he  said : 
"You  know,  Bill,  I  used  to  tell  her  all 
my  schemes,  and  she  was  so  kind,  and 
how  she  did  want  to  see  me  a  success ! 
You  know  how  things  are  coming, 
Bill,  and  I'd  like  to  see  her  just  a 
minute  and  have  her  cuddle  up  and 
say,  4I  knew  my  boy  was  all  right.'  ! 
What  was  I  going  to  do?  I  don't 
know  anything  about  consoling  people, 
so  I  just  said,  "Never  mind,  Johnny; 
you  and  I'll  take  a  trip  and  try  to  for 
get  it. "  Jim,  it's  been  over  two  years 
now,  and  he  loves  her  more  than  ever. 
What  I  want  you  to  do  is  to  write  him 
and  tell  him  to  take  a  rest.  He  can 


go       BILLY  BAXTER'S  LETTERS 

afford  it  easily  enough.  Every  time 
he  looks  at  anything  somebody  gal 
lops  in  and  hands  him  a  check.  Do 
this,  will  you,  Jim? 

Yours  as  ever, 

BILLY. 


PRINTED  BY  R.  R.  DONNELLEY 
AND  SONS  COMPANY  AT  THE 
LAKESIDE  PRESS,  CHICAGO,  ILL. 


Kountz,   W 

r     .T* 

h 

Billy'Ba 

xter's  letter 

3 

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